UNWANTED

CHAPTER 25 - P.2.20 - LIZAVETA

We left Tajikistan yesterday, and with my newfound freedom, I rode with Zabdi. He and I sneaked into the tunnels and tried progressing in my abilities but nothing.

Maybe it was just a one-time thing. And although I feared my identity, I wished I knew how to control it at least.

It was dark and dry in the tunnels today. Maybe there was a small leak somewhere that let the Pakistani heat in. Maybe it was just me, feeling constipated after all the grunts of effort spent on futility.

Why not? I thought. I sounded like a whining toddler.

"Maybe 'cause I did it?" Said Zabdiel, in his most annoying, overused tone. His hair was flat on his head, his fire lighting up the room and turning it into a sauna.

My shoe flew past his head. "So do it again then?" I challenged. It was probably the heat. It was making me cranky. "You try!" I shoved my fist into his face, giving him a point of contact.

It was his turn to look constipated.

Nothing happened at all.

"See? It was me." I said. "I'm fucking Onus." Saying it enough times didn't make it any less true, I found.

"We already established that..."

"Then why isn't this easy?!" I whined some more.

The whole day, I was paraded under the sun, wearing emeralds like a cape around me. The hospitality was outstanding, the roses filled my nostrils. But I heard news of the things brewing at the camps at the border, and all the fun went out the window.

I asked what I could do, they said nothing. I had suggestions and they shut them down in milliseconds. They said I didn't know what I was doing. Well of course not, they didn't tell me enough!

Then I argued with my uncle. He reminded me that I needed loyalty and that I'd get none of that without the support of my ministers. I didn't hate support from ministers. I just hated my ministers.

I suggested to stop the tour so I could do my duties, but they were convinced the only duty a nineteen-year-old, inexperienced girl could accomplish was looking for a husband.

My momentary agency was lost the second I climbed into the train. With all the noise, yet again I found myself powerless.

"You're not powerless." He said, his face understanding me, his mind listening to mine. I doubted he ever had to handle a refugee crisis before, but I felt like he knew how I felt... Which he probably did, given how he hung out in my brain constantly. "Try again."

He circled me, his footsteps echoing a little down the expanse of the tunnel. He was smiling, toying with me, but his eyes showed how much he pitied me. That was only for a second though.

Zabdi was sweating profusely, his curls sticking to his head like corn silk, his eyes full of enough heat I wouldn't have been shocked if the temperature was caused by them. "I burned a lot of toys and even electrocuted a nanny once. Not everything comes easy, Diwata."

"Well, it does for me." I argued. I heard how ugly I sounded. It was usually the truth though.

"Except for that refugee crisis or whatever" He snorted, his signature mischievous smirk returning to his lips. He really had to hit where it hurt. "Ever humble."

"Ever honest." I retorted, flinging another shoe. Regret came quick as the concrete on my bare feet started sizzling.

"Cooking? Does that come easy to someone who's never had to cook?"